


Lying in the ocean singing your song

by DawnlitWaters



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (Sort of) songfic, 221B Ficlet, 221b triptych, Author doesn't know what this is, F/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnlitWaters/pseuds/DawnlitWaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiss me hard before you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lying in the ocean singing your song

**Author's Note:**

> While I like a splash of Sherlolly from time to time, I don't really know where this came from. All I know is my brain wanted me to write and post this before it would let me sleep. Sorry, guys.

 

The lying is the worst part. She hadn’t really expected that, hadn’t been thinking that far ahead.

John comes by to see her, some days.

They tell each other how fine they are, talk about their friends and how busy they are with work.

These are the hardest lies to hear and tell. John looks ill and Molly knows she can do nothing to make him better, there’s no remedy for memory, after all, except, perhaps, other memories.

But she cannot give him hers, because she has been sworn to secrecy.

‘ _Everything will be fine, I promise.’_

His voice haunts her, and when she sees John’s face she wishes to be dead and swallowed by the earth.

She takes frequent days off, _nothing else to use it for_ , and drifts in her own head. She is distracted at work and falls into herself during pauses in conversation. Even John, poor distraught and distracted John, notices more than once.

‘Hey, daydreamer. Where were you?’

_I’ve been everywhere_.

_But I don’t want to be anywhere but here._

_Here, in my own head, where I don’t have to lie._

_Or rather, there. Back there. That final day._

_Your hands were on my hips, your name was on my lips_

She usually smiles and shakes her head: Telling him that will not make anything better.

 

~

 

At home, there are no interruptions, and she can be alone with her thoughts.

There’s a war in her mind between her instinctual optimism and her pessimistic fears, and while every time she closes her eyes she sees him in her dreams, it’s often far from paradise.

Sometimes it terrifies her. Not the reality of what happened _that day_ , but what might have happened to him since. By now, there is no scenario undreamt, no horrifying conclusion that she hasn’t suffered through. Other times she feels his fingers on her skin and his mouth on her lips: soft noises of pleasure in the back of his throat.

But the reality is quite otherwise.

She is alone in the night, sometimes frightened to dream and sometimes frightened to wake up.

_I’ve always loved him_ , she reminds herself, _I still remember the day we met_ _and I’ve loved him ever since. It’s torture, always has been, so there’s no reason to stop now. Loving him forever can’t be wrong._

No one compares to Sherlock, for her, and no one ever will. She doesn’t regret what she’s done, not in the slightest, least of all that final goodbye. She expected to feel foolish in the aftermath, but instead all she feels is love.

_I just wanted you to know, that baby you’re the best._

~

 

‘I need to go’ he says, thickly. His eyes don’t leave her face. She bunches her fingers in his shirt.

_No, please. Stay here. If you go now you might never come back._

Out loud she says ‘You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

She buries her face in his neck, inhales as if she can keep him safe inside her lungs. She refuses to cry, because if she admits how much she’s wanted this, she will never be able to let him go. She needs to put a stop to all this before it starts, before she catches up with herself: _Don’t leave me now._   She lifts her head, looks up into his face.

_Kiss me hard before you go._

Mercifully, he does.

 

His mouth is hot against hers, his hands tight on her waist and in her hair. He kisses like he does everything – without compromise and incredibly well.

She’d catch her breath if she could bear to let go.

Her arms are tight around his shoulders and she presses as close to him as possible, standing on tip-toe and steadied by the hand at her waist. He has to understand this, _promise you’ll remember that you’re mine, Sherlock_ , because it’s the only thing she can think of, in this awful moment, which might bring him back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> All lyrics do of course belong to Lana Del Rey. I just rearranged them a bit.


End file.
